


Take a Knee

by AuthorMAGrant



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Matchmaker Phichit Chulanont, One Shot, Romantic Fluff, rated for language, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorMAGrant/pseuds/AuthorMAGrant
Summary: Otabek takes Yuri to JJ's wedding as his plus one, only for his best-laid plans to fall apart before he can convince Yuri that marriage may not be so horrible. Fortunately, Phichit is ever helpful in playing Cupid.





	Take a Knee

“Seriously?” Yuri mumbled as he took a second-look at the wedding cake topper.

A crystal figure skater—clearly JJ—swung a woman in a wedding dress—clearly Bella—with looks of ridiculous adoration on their faces.

If he weren’t angling to get a piece of cake later, he would have vomited on it.

“What are you scowling about?” Otabek asked, sidling up to Yuri. He looked damn good in his tux, filling out the jacket’s shoulders while the rest of the lines fell perfectly over his athletic frame.

Yuri hadn’t gone that formal, but he thought he still looked pretty good. His suit was modern and, despite Katsudon and Victor’s protests, he’d worn his leopard-print sneakers, just to make himself feel a little more comfortable about the strange situation. When Otabek had walked into the church with one of Bella’s bridesmaids on his arm, Yuri had carefully flashed them, earning him a grin and subtle thumbs up. That had been the only real interaction they’d had all day.

Sure, he was Otabek’s plus one for this event, but since Otabek was one of JJ’s best men, other responsibilities came first. Yuri had been left to fend for himself, which he did by putting on his normal _fuck off_ vibe. Knowing that Otabek had finished his duties and immediately come to find Yuri gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling. He was smart enough to know that flutter in the pit of his gut was dangerous.

“Leave it to JJ to choose that monstrosity for his cake,” Yuri said, pointing at the topper.

“Oh?” Otabek took a long, quiet look at the cake. “I thought you would have disliked the purple frosting more.”

He was teasing. By now, Yuri knew that. He was probably one of the only people who heard the timbre change in Otabek’s voice, who saw the flash of amusement in those dark eyes. Most people thought Otabek was bland or unemotional.

Yuri knew better. Otabek just held rigid control over himself. He’d tried to rebuff Yuri’s efforts early on, determined to set the pace and depth of their connection. Yuri had broken through those walls with the grace of a box of dynamite. His exhibition skate to Otabek’s mix of “Welcome to the Madness” had connected them in a way neither was prepared for. And now … well, now it was difficult to contemplate _not_ hanging out with Otabek every free moment. It made rare times like this, when they both had downtime from competitions and could visit in person, truly precious.

He intended to take advantage of every second they had together, so he shot Otabek a saucy grin and jerked his head toward the cake. “What, you thought I’d want some boring, traditional cake?”

The corner of Otabek’s mouth twitched. “I can’t see you pouring over a catalogue of white cakes.”

“I’d never have a white cake.”

“Oh? What kind would you want?”

“Snow leopard print,” Yuri answered instantly. When Otabek’s twitch grew into a full-fledged smirk, he added, “It’s a wedding cake. It should still look classy.”

“And snow leopard is classy?”

“Over normal leopard, fuck yes.”

“What about tiger print?”

“Maybe for the groom’s cake. You don’t want it to be overwhelming.”

“I never pegged you for a traditionalist.”

“Only for certain things.” He gave Otabek a curious glance. “Are you going to tell me what kind of cake would you want or not?”

The man shrugged. “I’m not sure. I guess it would depend who I was marrying.”

Dark eyes fixed on him and, yet again, Yuri was reminded that true friendship meant the other person could read you as well as you could read them. And like hell he wanted Otabek to be able to see his thoughts right now. There were some boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed.

After all, they’d never ended up labelling their relationship. It was too complicated, especially after almost four years together, and honestly, Yuri didn’t give a shit _what_ their relationship was. The only thing he cared about was that he was here, with Otabek, and when they were together, all the crazy edges of his world smoothed out.

His trepidation must have shown on his face though, because Otabek dropped the eye contact first. “Thanks for coming with me to this,” he said.

Yuri shrugged. “You came to Victor and Katsudon’s wedding with me.”

“Yeah, but you know it’s not the same.” Otabek sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I don’t even know why JJ asked me to be part of the wedding party.”

Yuri stepped in close, lifting a hand and smoothing Otabek’s hair back in place. “You trained together.”

“That doesn’t make us friends.”

“Beka, seriously, you know how busy our lives are. Training together is pretty much as close as we ever get.”

“Then what are _we_?”

Well, crap. Yuri hadn’t expected Otabek to push him like that. Not so bluntly, at least. He managed a choked noise and dropped his hand. Otabek said nothing as Yuri turned to face the milling crowd, giving Otabek his shoulder and a ferocious blush.

The orchard grove where JJ and Bella’s reception was taking place was beautiful. The trees were in bloom, the tables spread out so quiet conversation could occur. Nearby, a dance floor had been established. Yuri couldn’t help but wonder why JJ didn’t ask Otabek to DJ for him. Maybe he didn’t know about Otabek’s hobby …

“Yuri—”

He tensed against his will. Otabek noticed. He always noticed things like that.

“It’s just a question,” Otabek said. “It’s nothing more than that.”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Because we’re almost four years in and for some insane reason, I want confirmation of where I think this is headed.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Yuri said slowly. Otabek tilted his head, but his jaw tightened and Yuri knew he was as terrified to hear the answer as Yuri was to give it. He swallowed and reached out a hand, skimming it lightly over Otabek’s chest until it rested over his heart. “We’re ... _us_ , I guess. Is that enough?”

Otabek looked down at Yuri’s hand, thoughtful and silent. After several painfully long moments, he opened his mouth. Fortunately, whatever else he was about to say was disrupted by cheers as the bride and groom finally arrived to their reception. Yuri drew his hand back.

“Come on,” Yuri said, heart racing, voice trembling. “We’d better go congratulate them.”

Otabek sighed. From the corner of his eye, Yuri watched him cross his arms and stare, brooding, at the crowd. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Yuri joined the receiving line. Otabek still hadn’t shown up by the time he reached the happy couple, so he had to endure JJ and Bella’s obnoxious, squish-the-air-from-your-lungs hug alone while the wedding photographer snapped a commemorative photo. Finally free from that hell, he looked around the reception, but still couldn’t spot his friend.

He wandered the edges of the party, trying his best to avoid the wedding photographer who seemed to have made it a personal mission to capture images of all the celebrities attending the shindig. When it looked hopeless, Yuri wandered back toward the buffet. It was the off-season so he could indulge, and since his last growth spurt, he’d found himself ravenous all the time.

He’d stuffed another artfully arranged crudité in his mouth when he caught sight of Otabek. His friend had wandered deeper into the orchard, away from the main crowd, and was busy talking on the phone. Otabek’s momentary distraction gave Yuri a rare opportunity to _really_ look at him.

And looking led to thinking. And thinking led to hoping. And hoping led to the lightning-bolt realization of how insanely fucked his heart already was.

This is why he hated weddings.

Otabek put away his phone and ran a hand over his face. Yuri almost called out to him, but stopped when Otabek glared down at a rock on the ground and kicked it away with a viciousness Yuri had only seen him use in practice when attacking a particularly complex step sequence Lilia had choreographed for him. Otabek really hated ballet. And apparently, something else.

That frustrated misery vanished from Otabek’s face the moment he looked up and saw Yuri watching him though. Like that, all traces wiped clean, replaced by an expression of ... relief? It was as good an invitation as any.

“Hey,” Otabek called softly as Yuri slouched toward him.

“What pissed you off?” Yuri asked, leaning his shoulder against a nearby apple tree and settling in for Otabek’s explanation.

“Nothing important.”

“You can lie better than that.”

Otabek made a face, but didn’t deny that he’d been caught. “I was talking to your grandpa.”

Yuri didn’t think much of it. Otabek and Grandpa talked all the time. “He pissed you off?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “So you’ve started kicking rocks for fun?”

Otabek gave a huff and leaned against the apple tree as well, his shoulder inches from Yuri’s, his body angled so they wouldn’t have to raise their voices. Intimacy in an already secluded space. Yuri loved it, loved how Otabek could make him feel like he was the only thing in the entire world.

His friend kept his gaze cast down toward their feet. “I needed to ask your grandpa for some advice. He told me what I needed to hear. Unfortunately, it’s easier to get advice than to put it into practice.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re the strongest man I know,” Yuri said dismissively. “You always get what you want, Beka.”

Otabek’s head snapped up at that and Yuri’s pulse raced at the look in Otabek’s eyes. He’d seen it so many times over the course of their friendship. It was all fire and passion and iron-will and discipline melded into an unstoppable wave of action. The only question was what Otabek would unleash that tempered madness on ...

“ _Yuriyim_ ,” Otabek murmured and even though he’d slipped into Kazakh, Yuri grinned in spite of having no fucking clue the word meant. Turns out it didn’t matter because the world was slowing down and freezing while Otabek dropped to a knee and looked up at him with some kind of wonder.

“Beka,” Yuri began, the warning in his voice slightly lessened because of the unintentional tremble, his grin wavering on the edge of something far, far different.

Otabek watched him, a sunlight-dappled work of art, dark hair and tan skin and honest face and Yuri didn’t deserve him or this and, God, he had to stop Otabek before he made a horrible, terrible mistake ...

“Yuri?” Otabek asked, his brow wrinkling in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I—I’m not sure.”

Otabek frowned, then looked down and tied his shoelace. Which had come undone. Because he wasn’t doing _that_ , he was just making sure he tied his shoe before they walked anywhere.

Like that, the world and its sound and color rushed back past the crazed panic that had seized Yuri a moment earlier.

“Hell, Beka, you scared the crap out of me,” Yuri rasped, letting the tree take most of his weight since his knees had gone strangely weak.

“Oh?”

“I thought you were proposing or something.” Yuri shook his head, dislodging the treacherous thought before it could take root, and offered his friend a hand. “How much longer do you need to stick around here?”

Otabek took Yuri’s hand and rose, dusting off the knee of his suit even though there was no sign of dirt or grass. He looked around and shrugged. “We could probably beg off by now. Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere. Somewhere with food.”

It earned him a low chuckle. “You’re always hungry.”

Yuri grabbed Otabek’s hand and tugged him back toward the reception. “Nothing changes.”

“No,” Otabek said, subdued for some reason, “nothing changes.”

They made quick goodbyes with the newlyweds and ended up heading to a nice restaurant, nicer than either usually frequented. Yuri was confused until Otabek admitted that he’d used their reps to snag them a table at the last minute.

“Still doesn’t explain the champagne,” Yuri mumbled into the flute as he took another sip.

Otabek reached for the bottle. “We could send it back,” he teased.

“Are you insane? This is the best champagne I’ve ever tasted. Way better than the swill they serve at the banquets.”

The meal was delicious. The conversation was better, as easy and effortless as always. They returned to their hotel in time for a video call from Otabek’s little sister, then another from Yuko and the triplets, and yet another from Katsudon and Victor, who were watching Potya in Yuri’s absence.

“Stupid Victor,” Yuri grumbled almost an hour later as they crawled into bed. He buried his face against Otabek’s bare chest and snuggled closer while Otabek flipped on the television. “I can’t believe he let Makkachin into the apartment.”

“Potya didn’t seem to mind. Those pictures of them curled up together were cute,” Otabek mused, smoothing his fingers through Yuri’s hair with absent-minded affection as he surfed the channels. “Besides, it’s hard to keep Makkachin from getting inside when their apartment is right across the hall.”

Yuri muttered something unkind and Otabek laughed, letting his hand drift lower to clasp the nape of Yuri’s neck, his thumb skimming lightly over the sensitive skin. Yuri melted a little and made a noise that was embarrassingly close to a purr.

“Go to sleep,” Otabek urged. “It’s been a long day.”

The soft drone of a show about how things get made left Yuri chuckling. “I still don’t get why you watch these videos all the time.”

“They’re soothing,” Otabek protested.

“A DJ who refuses to watch music videos,” Yuri mumbled into Otabek’s chest. “I can’t believe you sometimes, Beka.”

“Do you want some music instead?”

“Obviously.”

He clung to Otabek as he shifted to retrieve his phone. Yuri cracked his eyes open, watching Otabek settle back in with sleepy appreciation. In the dim light of the hotel room, he looked softer than he did in public. Yuri loved that only he got to see this side of the hero of Kazakhstan, just like Otabek was the only one who got to watch Yuri come apart completely. Otabek didn’t seem to notice Yuri’s attention. He shut off the television and searched through his phone, smiling when he found something good.

A folksy song started playing, guitar accented with tambourine and drums. Yuri should have hated it. Except, the lyrics made warmth bloom out from his chest and Otabek’s earlier smile made sense now.

“This song is so stupid,” he said. “But it’s true.”

“I know, Yura. Now, sleep.”

He drifted off with the chorus echoing in his ears. _Home is wherever I’m with you ..._

In the godforsaken early hours of the morning, which was around ten and a mere three hours before their flights out, Otabek enticed Yuri out of bed. He slipped a mug of hot coffee into Yuri’s hands and sat back while Yuri tried to pry his eyelids open. And, while Yuri was weak and under-caffeinated, he asked casually, “What do you think of me making Saint Petersburg my home rink?”

Yuri gave a sluggish thumbs up and reminded himself to return to the conversation when he was actually awake. A week later, Otabek moved to Saint Petersburg, his coach in tow. Clearly, the only thing to do was to have Otabek move into Yuri’s apartment.

Okay, so technically all Yuri did was show up at the airport to pick up Otabek and ask him, “Are you going to move in with me or not?” That settled everything without any long, awkward discussions.

Living together was a no brainer. It was the only way they’d see each other during the season, as hit and miss as those times may be. Potya adored Otabek with a passion that made Yuri impotently jealous. Besides, they’d already spent enough time living together in hotels that it didn’t take long to finish smoothing to each other’s rough edges. Yuri was happy, genuinely happy, with a stupid kind of beaming which led to Mila teasing him and Grandpa smiling and shaking his head.

Of course it couldn’t last.

They’d been living together for almost two weeks. Otabek had already left for an early morning practice—insane man, _wanting_ to work out early—and Yuri had finally dragged himself out of a shower and settled in on his couch with snacks, too many electronics, a blanket, and Potya, determined to enjoy his rest day until Otabek returned.

He logged in and began checking all his feeds. One notification in particular worried him.

“What does Phichit want?” he muttered, selecting the option.

Phichit’s post was short, sweet, and destroyed Yuri’s world with the effectiveness of a moon-sized asteroid.

_CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR ENGAGEMENT!!!_

And there, one of the watermarked photographs from JJ’s wedding photographer with Yuri and Otabek’s names tagged. Otabek on bended knee in front of Yuri, Yuri looking down at him with an expression he swore he’d never worn before, but that only Otabek could have coaxed onto his face.

“Oh, holy fucking shit,” Yuri whispered.

And then his phone rang. _Grandpa._

And a flurry of messages spewed across his computer screen, chat windows opening like yawning mouths of hell. _Mila. Gregori. Leo. Sara. Emil._

And someone started banging on his door.

“ _Fuck_!” Yuri howled.

Potya sprang up from the couch and fled in a chaotic scurry to the bedroom as Yuri flung the blanket away. He rushed for the door while answering his phone.

He answered the call with a frantic “Grandpa?” as he unlocked his apartment and swung the door open. The sight of a beaming Victor and Katsudon met him.

He slammed the door in their faces and fled back to the couch.

They didn’t take the hint and came into the apartment anyway. Yuri tried to listen to his grandpa while Victor yammered excited congratulations in the background. In the end, between the shock, his grandpa’s loving and stern questions, Victor’s babbling, and Katsudon’s additions, he only caught every few words.

His grandpa saying, “So you’re engaged?”

“To Otabek Altin!” Victor crowed.

“Such a great guy,” Katsudon added.

“Yurochka, does he make you happy?”

“So much talent!”

“Four years together, right?”

“I approve—”

“Can’t wait to plan the wedding!”

“Is he moving to Saint Petersburg permanently too?”

And more and more and more until there were no more words, just strange sounds buzzing around Yuri’s head like dying flies. His stomach churned, his skin burned, and at some point, he dropped the phone so he could put his hands on his knees and attempt to wheeze his way through what must have been a panic attack.

It was Katsudon who made the world stop spinning. He picked up the phone and ended the call with Grandpa, exchanging a few, probably polite statements, before tucking Yuri’s phone back into his sweatshirt pocket. Then Katsudon shushed Victor and asked him to go make some tea, a task the silver-haired man threw himself into with reckless abandon.

Yuri didn’t realize any of this until much later, when he focused on the calm voice reminding him gently, “I’m right here, Yurio. Breathe. Just breathe. I’ve got you.” The words sank in slowly. The sensation of slender hands clasping his where they rested and trembled on his knees sank in even slower. When he finally felt strong enough to lift his head and peer through the curtain of blond hair he’d forgotten to braid back that morning, he was met with Katsudon’s warm gaze, his steady, encouraging smile, and another reminder of “Breathe.”

He did. It made sense to.

He listened to Katsudon and slowly his heart stopped racing and his lungs stopped hurting and he could begrudgingly understand why Victor had fallen in love with the idiot.

Victor joined them with a fragrant, steaming cup of tea in Yuri’s favorite cat mug with its ridiculous cartoon cat holding up a teabag and asking, “Looking for a kit-tea?” Otabek’s little sister had designed it for him two Christmases ago. The horrible pun was Otabek’s contribution.

Otabek.

“Oh, my God,” Yuri moaned.

Katsudon took the cup from Victor and held it out like a peace offering. “Alternate sips and breaths. It’ll help. Okay?”

It did help. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Instead, he paced the carpet in front of his sofa. Four steps. Turn. Four steps. Turn.

Victor and Katsudon had settled on the couch, Victor’s arm wrapped lightly around Katsudon’s shoulder as they watched Yuri. Katsudon politely tried to ignore the flashing computer screen. Victor, nosy bastard that he was, didn’t bother.

“Wow, Yurio, you really surprised everyone! Should I message them back for you and tell them you’ll talk to them later?”

“No!”

Katsudon shot Victor a glare. “Stop pestering him, please,” he hissed at his husband.

“I’m not pestering Yurio! I’m trying to help.”

“How will hijacking his social media help?”

“It makes the flashing boxes go away. You always say they annoy you. Maybe they’re annoying Yurio too.”

“I don’t think _they_ are what’s annoying Yurio.”

“But they could be—”

“Vitya, stop helping.”

 “But Yuuuuuuuri—”

“Can you two assholes shut up for five seconds?” Yuri raged. “My world is ending and you’re being stupid and lovey-dovey and married and shit and—” Oh, there was that roller coaster drop in his gut again. “Oh, my God, everyone thinks I’m getting married!”

Katsudon and Victor glanced at each other. Victor frowned a little. “Wait, you _are_ engaged to Otabek, aren’t you?”

Otabek. Who was at practice. Who probably had no idea what explosion was happening on his intensely private social media accounts. Who wouldn’t know why an army of Yuri’s Angels showed up at the rink to shiv him with sharpened skate blades.

“He doesn’t know,” Yuri wailed, clutching his cat cup like a lifeline.

“Are you sure?” Katsudon asked cautiously. “I mean, he was the one kneeling, so I assume he knew what he was doing ...”

“We didn’t ... we aren’t ... that wasn’t ...”

He wasn’t coherent. The confused expressions facing him confirmed that. But he had no idea how to talk anymore.

And then, as Yuri tried to figure out how to explain everything, heavy footsteps pounded through the hallway outside and the apartment door swung open.

“I think he’s heard,” Victor whispered to Katsudon.

He must have. Practice wasn’t over for another hour, but there was Beka, standing in the hall in his practice clothes, sweat-drenched, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide. Wrecked.

“If—” he panted, “if I could—have a moment—with Yuri?”

Victor and Katsudon exchanged a look. Yuri would have yelled at them to mind their own damn business, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man in his doorway. The disgusting couple rose from the sofa, squeezed their way around Otabek, and vanished. Otabek stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

The sound echoed through the apartment like a gunshot.

“You heard?” Yuri squeaked.

Otabek nodded.

“Are you upset?”

Otabek nodded.

Yuri wanted to cry. “I’m sorry. I’ll call Phichit and see what he can do about it—”

“Yura, shut up.”

He did.

Otabek crossed the room, passed Yuri, headed toward their bedroom. He was going to pack and leave. Yuri clutched his arms around his stomach, trying to catalogue the flood of emotions. Anger and betrayal and a metric shitton of fear, although there was a healthy pinch of desperation in there too ...

Otabek returned, face set in grim lines as he stalked toward Yuri.

“This is _not_ my fault. JJ fucks up everything,” Yuri snapped.

“Yes, he does,” Otabek agreed. “And I’ve had enough—”

He didn’t head for the door. He dropped to a knee in front of Yuri.

“Huh?” Yuri asked.

His brain still didn’t work when Otabek pulled a hand from behind his back and fiddled with a small box.

“I’ve been holding onto this since that reception,” Otabek said.

The band inside was simple. Slim and matte black and Yuri had never wanted anything so badly in his entire life. He made a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob and probably a whimper.

Otabek hadn’t moved. He knelt there, glaring up at Yuri, jaw squared defiantly. “So, are you going to marry me or not?”

Yuri swallowed hard, wiped an arm across his face to remove the random moisture that _absolutely_ wasn’t tears, and scowled back at Otabek. “That’s the best proposal I get?”

The corner of Otabek’s mouth curved up. “Too scared to answer, _Yuriyim_?”

“Fuck you.” Yuri reached down and tugged the band free, jamming it on. He flipped Otabek off, adjusting so it was his ring finger raised. “There. And yes. Happy?”

“Yes.” Otabek reached for Yuri’s hand, using it to drag him down to his knees so it was easier to reach his lips.

Later, mostly covered by the sheets of their bed, Yuri jabbed his elbow in Otabek’s side. “Smile, Beka.”

“Why?” Otabek grumbled, resting his chin on Yuri’s shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist.

Yuri stretched out his arm, ensuring the picture would catch his ring, and grinned. “It’s either this or JJ gets to take credit for our engagement.”

Otabek stiffened and leaned in closer. “Take the damn picture _now_ , Yura.”

So he did. And once he posted it and changed his account name to **yuri_plisetsky-altin** , he shut off his phone and curled up against Otabek, genuinely happy once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt "your OTP goes to a wedding and everything goes sideways." Mostly I just enjoyed torturing poor Otabek; with Yuri, even the best-laid plans would be impossible.


End file.
